Discovered in a Livejournal

“Growing old is mandatory but growing up is optional” - Carroll Bryant



( read here )

(a bit of silliness -)

“C’mon Bodie, rise and shine, time for a run.”
“I don’t see any shining going on. What’s the weather?”
“Cloudy with a chance of me?”
“Pass. It’s raining. Not going out in that.”
“You won’t melt.”
“Don’t like rain. It’s wet.”
“Rain makes the world new again. Good for roses and lavender, too.”
“When did you become a pluviophile?”
“eh?”
“A lover of rain, someone who finds joy and peace of mind in rainy days.”
“Then I guess that makes you pluviophobic, seeing as a mind is required.”
“Berk. I prefer sunshine. C’mere, Ray.”
“Ah... maybe we’ll skip the run.”

Hurried footsteps stirred tendrils of fog lying along the cemetery path. Moisture crept in from the river, filling the morning with mizzle. Bodie wiped away the wetness collecting on his skin and hair as he chased his prey through the brume. He heard the rhythm of trainers on the pavement ahead of him but couldn’t see Doyle through the mist. Taunting words floated out of the miasma.

“C’mon, slowcoach!”

Bodie’s eyes rolled as he grumbled. ’Fancy a run?’ he asks. ‘It’s only a bit of fog,’ he says.

“Brekkie’s waiting.”

“Running all the way, mate!” Fog swirled in his wake.

( Trailer )

Unfortunately I don't have a lot of time to write a story of my own - but I did want to "run"! So here is a story I found all about Doyle training, running, competing, the lads "first time" and an undercover for Bodie that goes wrong and it takes the run of Ray's life to save him.

( More here )

Because of the generosity of two wonderful Pro’s fans, you not only get a story, but also some gorgeous unexpected and unsolicited artwork! Big hugs and thanks to the snailbones and minori_k And a big thank you also goes to my beta, moonlightmead! I didn’t follow all your advice this time, but thanks for making this a better story than the one I originally sent to you!

Happy Holidays, everyone!

( A Light in the Dark )

Moonlight, sneaking in through the gap in the partially open curtains, gently kissed the slumbering form beside him. Muscles and curves cast beguiling shadows, highlighting the smooth, pale skin of back and buttocks.

Ray exhaled a whispery breath as he gently stroked Bodie’s shoulders. “Beautiful.”

( The rest of the story is here... )

Rain splatters the windscreen, painting the world with Monet’s brush, adding tears to his reflection in the glass. Ignoring the blood soaking through his jeans, he anxiously watches the warehouse, its flames battling with Mother Nature’s downpour. Bodie is still in there.

Pain and Cowley confine him to the Capri. He loses himself in the sound of droplets drumming on the bonnet. His awareness drifts.

Voices intrude. One voice, close to his ear, pulls him back.

“What’s all this, then?” his partner gently caresses a wet cheek.

His consciousness sliding away, he manages a smile. “Was waiting for you.”

This was my prompt:




( Ghosts of Christmas Past )

( Trailer )

The old man still sat with his easel outside his caravan. He’d been here all week, working on a seascape. The wind ruffled his gray curls as he sat and painted. He seemed so alone. No one had visited since he had arrived. He’d been kind to us children, so I waved and walked over.

The seascape was finished, but he’d added a portrait. It was a dark haired man with broad shoulders and eyes painted as blue as the ocean. I didn’t remember seeing any one like that around.

He sensed my confusion because he said, “That’s Bodie.” His eyes sparkled and his smile lit his whole face, taking years away. He must have been something in his day, with those curls, the deep green eyes and that impish grin. “Where is he?” And I knew I made a mistake when the light left his eyes. I started to apologize. He shook his head and put a cold finger on my lips. He took my hand and placed it on his heart. “He’s here.” He smiled, but sadly. “He’ll always live, here.”


Title: Painting
Author: Merentha13
Slash or Gen: could be either
Archive at ProsLib/Circuit: sure
Disclaimer: older lads/very sad
Notes: This was my original thoughts for another story I wrote, not sure why I thought of it again today... I guess it's just been a bad week...